


With all that I am

by flyingisabetterwordforfalling (FlyingFalling)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Asexual Sherlock, Awesome Mrs. Hudson, Bisexual John Watson, Communication, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Domestic Fluff, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Grief/Mourning, John needs to apologize for being a jerk, M/M, Mary is a good character in this one, Parent-Child Relationship, Parenthood, Parentlock, Past Character Death, Sherlock Being a Good Friend, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Slow Build, seriously these two need to talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 11:29:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10853076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyingFalling/pseuds/flyingisabetterwordforfalling
Summary: "They had started trusting each other again, even though both knew their former relationship would probably never be the same again. Still, even then it had not been cooled off entirely. In working together, being there for Rosie they had been able to restore the most broken parts of their friendship and yet trusting Sherlock fully again had required a much longer time."





	With all that I am

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday my dear friend, I promised I would write something about these two and Rosie and here it is.  
> I hope you like it and have an amazing day as well. :)

Gently rocking his daughter in his arms John had eventually sat down and was once again grateful for Mrs Hudson's unyielding nature. She had been right all along, it was easier to have a chair in Rosie's nursery and yet it had taken some time convincing John who did not want to move too much around -even after certain other people had been insisting that walking to his armchair instead of just having another chair in the room simply made no sense. Still, John was careful not to cause utter chaos. In the end he had even given in.

 

He had half expected Sherlock trying to reason with him about every single change that had been made in his precious flat and yet the detective had even offered his room to become John's, even going as far as calling it their flat once again. The room, formerly Sherlock's, was bigger than the one he had been living in for so long, years ago by now. After all, Sherlock had not even questioned him when John had asked after one particularly vicious nightmare if he could sleep there for some time as well even though they had been rather distant back then.  
  
It was different, irrevocably different in fact, not just the room, but everything. Their living arrangement, Sherlock, he himself and altogether them as a duo.  
  
They did not have to talk about it, and yet John needed time to not simply start to panic, instead getting used to Sherlock being away when he woke up, and even though it may be more than a little strange for two friends to sometimes even sleep together in the same bed, he needed Sherlock to be there when he woke up in the middle of the night, sometimes calling out for him, for Marry, for all the people he thought he was not longer able to protect on his own.

 

Sometimes Sherlock was not there, and John froze, fighting the panic attack as well as the thoughts that he had lost him again, only then to see Sherlock holding Rosie in his arms, calming her and only then John himself calmed down as well. Just seeing these two people, the two people he cared so deeply about and just loved so much being safe, just safe and by his side was all he wished for.  
  
At first Molly, Mrs Hudson as well as Greg had expressed their concern about the whole living arrangement when John had still been living alone, just him and Rosie, in the house he had once bought for his family. The only one who had been suspiciously quiet about almost everything had been Sherlock, being overly cautious about most things he seemed to do or say around John, as if he feared to trigger a reaction or action John might regret after a while.  
  
Even now, from time to time, John felt overwhelmed, drained and worst of all somehow restricted. Sometimes he could not help but still suspect that the people closest to him were not taking him or his decisions seriously. However, he had felt so alone back then, when it had just been him and his little daughter -when he had actually tried to keep the others away, resulting in his friends suggesting even more stubbornly John should consider looking for another psychologist. He had eventually snapped at them that he would not talk to yet another stranger who may turn out to be a complete psychopath once again.  
  
They had been standing in his former living room, Molly glaring at him when she had been cradling her goddaughter in her arms, covering the child's ears, as Greg and John had been angrily talking in whispers, trying not to wake up the toddler, and after almost managing to in fact wake her up Greg had eventually advised John to just once and for all seek help, if not from them or professional advice then maybe from self-help groups.  
  
He did not, not in the first year at least, which John, of course, never told any of them. Instead he wrote his concerns down, not on his blog -that one had not been updated in a long time, mostly in an attempt to keep their lives more private- but on writing paper which he had then burned in their fireplace after he was done with each letter.  
In those days he had been trying to do so as soon as he could, fearing someone might find out his hidden fears and thoughts. All while knowing that Sherlock still managed to somehow read most of these letters anyway. Just knowing he was there, actually living with him and thus was not ever too far away had even then still been almost reassuring enough.  
  
In the aftermath of threatening to punch Mycroft should he ever consider spying on him or his daughter, John had been caught off guard when the older Holmes brother merely raised an eyebrow before telling him he was now the second one to demand exactly that and after Mycroft had sobered up and stopped smirking, he had the nerve to ask John if it actually did come as a surprise that his brother was still willing to protect him and thus by extension Rosie as well in every way Sherlock could think of.  
  
Not even coming close to showing even the slightest sign of tension at being insulted by his younger brother's roommate, even Mycroft had insisted John moving to 221B Baker Street would be better for him, as well as for his daughter.  
  
No one would try to take her away from him, no one thought of him as a bad parent for mourning his late wife and being afraid of losing the people he loved, Mycroft had added the last part rather hesitantly and had smiled at John even more cautiously than even Mrs Hudson when she had been saying almost exactly the same words only days prior. That little detail had made the entire conversation more unusual than ever but John had been listening nonetheless, Mycroft approaching him had always been for a reason, sometimes the most reckless and baffling of reasons but for a reason nonetheless.  


After having seen actual proof -and not just having to listen to his usual threats and speeches- that Mycroft Holmes was willing to move heaven and hell for his brother's safety John had been slightly more content to listen to the words of advice from all the other people in his life as well -he would never have thought Mycroft's words would in the end be the last straw, and for a while John had stubbornly told himself he had agreed to moving back in with Sherlock in hopes of getting the older Holmes brother of his back. At the time John had gotten rather good in denying the fact that he had actually missed Sherlock as much as he had when he thought to have lost the man for good.

 

They had started trusting each other again, even though both knew their former relationship would probably never be the same again. Still, even then it had not been cooled off entirely. In working together, being there for Rosie they had been able to restore the most broken parts of their friendship and yet trusting Sherlock fully again had required a much longer time.

  
Knowing his suspicion had not been healthy in any way, John had eventually sought professional help, realizing he could not force himself to forgive Sherlock in the nearest future and yet he had to. It had all been so difficult, a part of him wanted to just hate the man for causing Mary's death, that part wanted to see Sherlock as the sociopath he had been portrayed as by so many people when John had met him such a long time ago. However, another part of him just wanted his best friend back, the good man he still knew the detective to be even tough Sherlock himself had tried time and time again so very hard not to be seen as such.  


When Rosie had been teething it had not been John who had been overcautious but Sherlock. Her almost constant crying had been horrible and of course it had hurt John to see her in pain but he knew what he had to do and in the end it was Sherlock who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere whenever Rosie started to show the faintest sign of discomfort, and yet he had only ever touched her when John had given him the sign that it was okay to do so.  
  
Now he felt awful whenever he thought about the otherwise brave man having been so afraid of doing something, having literally seen the great detective being utterly terrified of even risking angering him further, of eventually giving John a reason to take Rosie and leave without ever coming back.  
  
John had been caught off guard then, just the tiniest bit, when Sherlock had gone out and bought about a dozen of teething rings, testing them all and making sure every single material was analyzed by no other than himself because he refused to trust, as he had called them, mere amateurs with Rosie's development. The fatherly side of John wanted him to step in, to remind Sherlock that the little girl was in fact not his child but John's.

   
In the first few months and almost years of them living together there had been these moments when Sherlock had been holding his goddaughter in which John had wanted nothing more than to get her back, to reassure himself that she had still not been given to another legal guardian, that he was still able to care for her on his own. Every time it had happened John  had seen so many emotions flashing through his roommate's and formerly best friend's eyes, just knowing that Sherlock knew had been enough to fight down these distressing thoughts.  
  
Sherlock did not coo at her the way some other people did, in fact John very rarely saw him doing something that could usually be considered a sign of honest affection. All the same, seeing him glancing at John as if this time holding Rosie could be the last time he was allowed to do so was the actual reason why John finally began to think otherwise. There was no obvious sign, or declaration of love, that was simply not how Sherlock dealt with emotions.  
  
There were no words or gestures to show how much Sherlock actually cared, in the end John plain and simple knew Sherlock loved the little girl, his little rose. Now years later, after having successfully overcome his jealously, his unhealthy nagging fear of losing Rosie, John fondly remembered the first time Sherlock had held her without him standing right next to the other man to support Rosie's head or make sure that she was otherwise alright.  
  
Not that Sherlock would talk about it but John would never forget the clear evidence of joy on his face, the unshed tears in his eyes when Rosie had opened her mouth and started making happy babbling noises at the once self-declared high-functioning sociopath who had held her in a vicelike grip just barely gentle enough for holding a child her age -or a child at all.         


From that very moment on, after John had told the not at all sociopathic instead rather nervous man that a baby was able to sense how their parents, altogher the people closest to said child, were feeling when they held them and most often than not even showed similar signs of distress if said person was feeling down, Sherlock had become better at controlling his own anxieties regarding his goddaughter.  
  
It had been around that time that John had tried his very best to le go of and even permanently forget his fears, and thus the little voice inside his mind which kept telling him Sherlock could hurt her should John turn his back on him and his daughter in the other man's arms. Seeing the fear in Sherlock's eyes had been the moment John  was finally ready to face the truth: ready to accept that he was not the only one who was afraid of just how ambiguous the future might be, how many more barriers they might have to break down.  
  
"What if I drop her?", had been one of Sherlock's first questions once he seemed to have gotten over the initial shock that John was finally unhesitant about him even being near Rosie.

 

John had simply smiled back at him, meant as an apology for so much he should never had done or said. In a soft voice, suddenly uncertain he had asked if Sherlock needed a little more time until he was ready to hold her. John would not force him to hold the little girl if he really did not want to, her father had added then and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, trying to emphasise his words just a little bit more. They both ignored that the younger man slightly startled at the unexpected touch, almost recoiling from the direct physical contact but then Sherlock had nodded, somehow looking shy, abashed even and moments later he had held his goddaughter.  


It turned out he did so for hours and hours and almost feel asleep standing there in front of her cradle, too afraid to move once she fell asleep with her head nestled in the crook of Sherlock's arm.  
  
When John came back home from work, his emotional and sleepy mess of a roommate had looked up from where he had been standing, in fact still been standing when John turned on the bedside light. He did not take a picture even though he wanted to hold on to this moment as long as he could from the very first second he saw the two of them there. In his opinion a perfect picture of a caring guardian and his little darling protégée. There had been nothing left of the mistrust or the grudge he had held for such a long time.

 

Instead of searching for his phone he had approached Sherlock, who apparently had actually been standing there for the last few hours without moving, at least to John it seemed as if he had been standing in the exact same corner where he had left him. Afraid John might startle either of them, he nudged Sherlock's arm a bit, his fingers drawing vague patterns into the fabric of the slowly waking man's dress shirt, before leaning over to kiss the sleeping child in the other man's arms on the head. Even though he looked slightly more awake a while later, Sherlock was obviously still about to keel over and not just as a doctor but also -and even more so- as someone who cared about Sherlock John would not let that happen.  
  
It did not need a genius to see in what state the world's only consulting detective had been in and John had simply taken his daughter from his best friend -even though at the time he was not sure if they still were more than just two people living together, who despite everything that had happened were not able to give up on the other- cradled Rosie in his arms for a while and despite his own weariness John had cherished this little moment for a few more minutes, with Sherlock leaning against his side, apparently sensing or once again deducing that somehing had fundamentally changed, that it was okay again to be close to John. The both of them had simply been smiling down at Rosie and Sherlock had murmured a quiet thank you into John's neck. John had never asked what it meant.  
  
They had both been too tired to care about brushing their teeth or doing anything else, simply changed into their pyjamas and more or less collapsed into bed. In the morning John belatedly realized he was not actually wearing his own clothes, the shirt was way too big on him to be his and Sherlock had not even bothered to wear more than his undershirt and some pants. Despite having avoided Sherlock for so long, it had felt natural to have him there, sleeping in the same bed as John -even though he knew Sherlock had done that before, when John had been waking up in the middle of the night, frantically searching for the man he had thought to be dead.     

                                         
By then, even without talking about it, the two men long-since did not care about keeping a certain amount of distance between one another and most often than not John woke up with an arm thrown across his chest, sometimes in combination with a hand or two buried in his shirt, a head nestled against his shoulder with a mop of curly hair tickling his nose -which altogether was not the worst kind of waking up.    
  
Months later, the soft babbling noises -the ones which Rosie made whenever she wanted to get their attention or was just genuinely happy or sometimes the very antithesis, John had at last been getting better at telling what it was- were starting to turn into actual words. Mrs Hudson had been delighted when she was the first one to be addressed by more or less her name when Martha Louise Hudson was named Mata by Rosie and her father had smiled proudly at the little girl.  
  
A little later she began to call him dadda and it was one of the best days of his life, holding her gaze and knowing that she was in fact talking to him, or at least attempting to talk with her father was one of the happiest memories John had ever had. For a while John had been sure she would call him by his actual name due to Sherlock only ever calling him that, at the time he still refused to refer to John as dad or worse daddy -even Molly had made a wry face when Mrs Hudson had asked the rather innocent question about what John would like to be called by his little Rosie and had of course suggested these words.  
  
John had laughed with Molly, when Rosie had called her Lolly for the first time and waited as much as the rest of his friends and chosen family for the other variations of all their names. Along the way Rosie somehow seemed to find a connection between Sherlock and Papa Smurf.  
   
One day, while watching the associated cartoon, The Smurfs, with Molly as well as a groaning Sherlock, who was muttering on and on about the strangest details in said show, Rosie all of a sudden pointed at him and called him papa Schlock. One of their guests, Greg, who had also been invited to come over for some coffee and cake, had been rather disinterested in a children's cartoon and thus had instead been reading the paper and upon hearing such an unusual term of endearment almost choked on his coffee while one of Rosie's other godparents had tried to hide her grin behind her shortcake.

 

The other two, her actual parent as well as another one of her godparents, who had been preparing something to eat for Rosie as well -John was trying not to burn the kitchen down and Mrs Hudson was helping and reminding him that she was only helping because she could not afford a burnt down flat and not because she was in any way their housekeeper- came rushing out of the kitchen to see the little girl propped up on Greg's leg, who was beaming proudly up at the adults in the room and giggling gleefully when Greg's laughter gave her a good shake. Well, John came rushing out of the kitchen while Mrs Hudson had a laughing fit almost as bad as Greg's and was hiccupping by the time she joined the others in the living room.  
  
Rosie's guardian and of course other godfather had managed to shock them all by rushing over and taking one of her tiny hands in his and introducing himself to her by repeating the name she had given him just minutes before. Then Sherlock had smiled while simultaneously bursting into tears, which resulted in Rosie starting to make wailing sounds mere seconds later, the noise only getting louder and louder until Sherlock had mostly regained his composure and from then on the major part of that afternoon was by way of comparison relatively calm. At least for 221B Baker Street.  
  
Eventually Rosie stopped crying entirely and in the almost relieved silence Greg had just continued sitting there -once he and Molly sitting halfway across the room had actually stopped giggling- gently rocking the young child, all while trying not to stare at his friend, who had ended up sitting in front of him while still holding onto Rosie's fingers. Sherlock had been successfully attempting to make her laugh by counting them over and over again, without actually saying the numbers and making silly faces instead, which to the little girl seemed way more entertaining.  
  
Molly had complimented Mrs Hudson on her culinary art and still could not get the older woman to give her the recipe and was told that she would have a reason to come back and visit her if she intended to eat something like the shortcake on her plate again. It was not a reminder but an invitation to visit her not just to see Sherlock, John and Rosie, but Mrs Hudson as well as a friend.  
  
In the end, Mrs Hudson had given Molly a present she had kept hidden from her tenants beforehand, mostly to make sure a certain detective did not use it for one of his experiments and before Sherlock could say a word about what might be in the lovely decorated little box Molly had already hugged Mrs Hudson and promised her she would try all the recipes and bake something to bring over to the four of them.  
  
Their little family of choice grew even closer in the next few years, and at one point Molly had brought over her beloved Toby because she could not take her elderly cat with her when she went to visit some of her relatives, joking about them probably asking her once more about her relationship status before she added with a self-conscious undertone that she would eventually end up a mad old cat woman. At that John had had enough of Molly denigrating herself like that and had thus kissed her on the cheek and given her a tight hug, reassuring her that she would not end up alone and that there were plenty of people who loved her just the way she was.  
  
Sherlock and John had made sure the entire flat was cat-proof -long before Toby came anywhere near Baker Street- and that Rosie would not have any trouble with the new visitor, letting the two get to know each other when they visited Molly a few days before she would be leaving. In the end securing the entire flat had been slightly over the top, Toby had spend most of his time sleeping on Sherlock's favourite side of the couch and in almost equal parts being petted by an overly excited little girl.  
  
When Molly came back to pick him up again it needed three adults to even get said girl to let go of the by then rather ruffled looking feline, still Toby had mostly stayed calm and did not even scratch Rosie once when she more or less dragged him through the living room, attempting to hide under the coffee table with the cat by her side. He even curled himself around her, as if he was the one who intended to keep her by his side and not the other way around.  
  
John eventually coaxed his daughter out from under where she had been hiding, pretending to play hide and seek with her and Sherlock who promptly hid behind the armchair. In the end she had crawled out from under the table, laughing about the fact that her father had not been able to find her and even Sherlock, who put on quite a show when he pretended to be found by her praised Rosie as he called the table an ingenious hiding place.  
  
While Rosie was distracted Molly was attempting to catch Toby, greeting Mrs Hudson who had appeared at the door, more or less in passing, while gently wrestling the struggling cat into his pet carrier. In the aftermath of this mad chase Molly joked she now would have to spent about a month trying and probably failing in earning her kitten's trust back and John had taken one look at the pouting Rosie hiding behind one of Sherlock's legs before he leaned down to pick her up and agreed it would be about the same with her.  
  
The little girl had simply stared up at him, having learnt the bitter look of keen disappointment clearly from no other than Sherlock himself and John could not help but chuckle at the sight of it. He no longer wondered why people kept thinking she was his daughter instead of John's when the three of them went out for a walk or outside together at all. People had always thought and asked so many questions about them, John was getting tired of correcting each and every single assumption about their relationship.    
  
The sound, her father's clear amusement drew Rosie's attention to him, and she almost wriggled out of Sherlock's arms, when she reached for John while still looking between the two men, one of them her biological father, the other his best friend who had become a co-parent for little Rosamund.  
  
"'Toby wants to stay, you cannot make him leave." she whined and Sherlock patted her head and brushed a hand through her short hair -they had to have it cut a few months ago because she had managed to get all three people she was living with in a panic due to mimicking one of Sherlock's many experiments.  
Now, most of the experiments he had still been allowed to do with Rosie aroun had been strictly banned from the entire flat as well. Back then, even after washing them the gladly non-toxic substance had been caught in her locks, she had been screaming when John who had been tasked with cutting as little hair as possible had tried calming her down, promising her that her hair would grow back in the end. Now Rosie appeared to be working herself into a very similar fit, and John simply leaned down and kissed her head, while wiping away a few tears.  
  
"Everything is going to be fine, Rosie dear, your dadda and me will get you a-"  
  
"Sherlock, you are not promising her a pet!", John interrupted before Sherlock could make even the littlest of promises. His best friend knew that tone all too well, it meant that Rosie had Sherlock once again twisted around her little finger and that never ended well. At least not for John.  
  
Now Sherlock was even calling him dadda, which he still only ever did when he knew him and Rosie were a factor to be reckoned with -only that said factor was built on John's adoration for the two of them and learning to resist their pleading eyes had been hard-earned, but in the end he had managed it, most of the time at least. Sherlock looked over to where he was standing, his arms crossed over his chest in warning, yet John was even despite his strict posture fondly looking over at the two of them. Proving his words to be more of a reminder than a warning.  
  
"A new teddy?"  
  
Rosie's looked at him wide-eyed and for an almost four years old child surprisingly warily.  
  
"A cat?"  
  
John silently groaned, Mycroft had been around her for way too long; he slightly feared his daughter would become cold and calculating but since he knew neither description actually fitted the older Holmes brother John did not ponder over it all too much.  
  
"A cat.", Sherlock repeated as serious as even he could with a furious little girl in his arms.  
  
Within seconds she had wrapped her little arms around one of his.  
  
"Ta, papa."        
     

From where she stood, holding her cat or rather her cat's temporary carrier Molly told them how adorable it was that Rosie still called Sherlock papa and John blinked, slightly in surprise but at the same time it came as no surprise at all. To him hearing Rosie just casually calling Sherlock nothing but papa was as natural and normal as being called dadda himself, only that she now seemed to prefer calling him dad more than anything else.  
  
"Of course she does, my dear. He's her parent.", Mrs Hudson declared and not just Sherlock blinked at their landlady more than a little caught off guard.  
  
Molly, sensing the complete change of mood quickly thanked them again for taking care of Toby, said goodbye and was out of the door before anyone could stop her. Mrs Hudson followed soon after, looking slightly baffled.  
  
Suddenly alone in the living room John sat down in his armchair, watching Sherlock as if he had not seen him for a long time and was only then able to recognise certain changes he had not been able to see before.  
  
"He's her parent... you're her parent.", he repeated, keeping eye contact with Sherlock as the other man came closer, sat down on the arm of John's chair and just kept watching him as well. Rosie once again seemed to sense that something was going on, glancing curiously back and forth between the two men until she seemed to get bored and started playing with Sherlock's shirt buttons while sitting on one of his legs before demanding to be let down and rushing in the direction of Sherlock's room.

 

The room that had officially been Sherlock's for the past few years, by now it was more of a child's room, most of Rosie's toys and other playthings had been placed there, even her collection of children's astronomy books had found their place in a bookshelf which had been very painstakingly built by mostly John and Molly while Sherlock and Mycroft were busy arguing about the construction manual and Greg being otherwise occupied with filming the entire spectacle.   
  
Once he was sure Rosie was out of earshot, John smiled faintly, reaching out and buttoning the other man's shirt from where he sat up again, his hands lingering over Sherlock's where he had been fastening up his shirt himself, feeling the faint heartbeat underneath their overlapping fingertips.  
  
"John.", Sherlock eventually said, his voice full of all kinds of emotions, expressing so much at once that John needed a few seconds until he understood the underlying tension, fear and somehow vague shimmer of hope. Neither of them was good in showing or even talking about their feelings for the other man but when Sherlock hesitantly got hold of John's hand, lifting it to his mouth and pressing the lightest of kisses against his knuckles, John knew, he just knew.  
  
"Me too.", it was all he could get out in that very moment, less than he wanted but everything he could say, despite that nothing would ever be enough to express all the things going through his mind. It was a yes, me too, I feel the same way, I'm scared of so many things, of losing you, or her. I'm afraid of so much but as long as you're besides me it is going to be bearable and maybe one day I'll be able to heal completely.  
  
These few precious minutes, sitting there just had to be one of John's favourite moments -and he silently hoped it was the same for Sherlock. He knew he would have to get up and check on Rosie, to make sure she was not doing something she was not supposed to but John could not bring himself to leave.  
  
That night they feel asleep in each other's arms. John eventually woke up, expected seeing the first rays of dawn as he had done from time to time, especially when dwelling on thoughts mostly regarding his behaviour, and yet he had slept through what seemed to be a few hours. For once there had been less of the nightmares which had been keeping him awake for so long, and even though it had been years ago John was still unable to forgive himself for how he had treated not just Sherlock but all the other people he loved as well, and even then he was still dreaming about the worst things he had done.  
  
Of course, he was still not fully sure how and why he deserved the right to now be laying next to the person -the one person he had treated not just badly but to whom he had done and said unforgivable things, all while being distinctly aware that he was taking advantage of Sherlock's guilt, his love for him- was beyond his grasps.    
He had been an abuser, and as such had manipulated Sherlock into thinking he indeed deserved punishment and by now John was relieved knowing his best friend was not pushing him away -and that knowledge had made it somehow worse.  
  
He had and still went to an anger management therapist as well as a psychologist specialized in dealing with people suffering from trauma, PTSD and those who had experienced great loss. 

 

Even though a few months went by after they had eventually rekindled their former closeness there was still some kind of hesitation before he had been able to even touch Sherlock for longer than strictly necessary without pulling away as if he had been burnt, John had eventually gotten there in the end.

 

Yet, the guilt had still been lingering somewhere deep inside his mind when Sherlock had wrapped him in an excited hug when Rosie had managed to finally eat an entire meal without getting it everywhere for the very first time. They both had kept their respective distance and months after John had still asked for Sherlock's consent before touching him, even walking past one another in the hallway had not been done without a few words, the cautious question if everything was alright in the first year after moving in together.

 

Even now not everything was alright, he still asked whenever Sherlock seemed upset if he was allowed to be near him. Still, they were not exactly sure if it ever truly would be okay between them but they at least tried getting there, together. Even years later they needed time to pick up the broken pieces of their former trust, to regain it and even then, when they had started sharing a bed after having found out their actual feelings for one another John had still been ill at ease, being so close to the one person he had hurt so much, the one person who clearly loved him anyhow. It had simply been too much.

 

It was not right, had not been right then and even now it felt as if he was still somehow imposing on Sherlock's fondness towards him due to some weird ulterior motives, even though he knew there was nothing but the actual wish, will even, to be around Sherlock. Of course it was not Sherlock's fault that he was clearly glad having John back and by his side again but John was from time to time unable to take his mind of his worries.  
  
He had been selfish and by now he knew that all he could do about it was change his behaviour, the way he acted around Sherlock, to change his own entire way of thinking. He owed it to himself, even more so to his best friend, the man who had falsely thought he deserved John viciously letting his anger out on him -for which he also could still not forgive himself, probably never would.   

  
Sitting in front of him, once in a while watching Sherlock with a sleeping little girl on his lap as if she was the greatest mystery he had ever laid eyes on, John just had to ask him if he was bothered by her having gotten accustomed to calling him her second father.

  
The shimmer of plain fear flickering through Sherlock's eyes had hurt so much and his too reserved question if he should tell her to call him by his first name instead had sounded awfully defeated, his face a mask of feigned indifference, as if he had just been told that his former fear had been right all along, that John merely tolerated his presence around the girl whose mother had died to protect him.  
  
John had slowly crossed through the room when it had happened the last time, taking the few steps until he was stood cautiously in front of Sherlock, only then he had asked if the detective would have given his life for Mary instead, the question had sounded all wrong once he had said it out loud. Until then they had been carefully avoiding talking about Mary's death, tiptoeing around most topics regarding her altogether.    
  
Still, even though John knew the other to be harboring pangs of guilt he had been too selfish for too long to even realize what was going on inside the other man's head, and had rather shut him out by removing himself from Sherlock's life and thus his emotions as well. Knowing him having too big a heart, the yearning of being there for others would certainly cause the downfall of the greatest man John knew, which had been one of the many reasons to try and get his life back together.  
  
"It would have been better had I died in Mary's place, isn't that right, John?"

 

It was painful hearing Sherlock say the things he seemed to truly believe and even though he did not like to hear them, John mused they were the ones he deserved for pushing the one person who had insisted on and kept trying to be there for him away -with John going as far as abusing said willingness to help.

  
"You don't mean that Sherlock, you don't want to die."  
  
They should not be talking about all that in front of Rosie but her being there and sound asleep had also had the side effect of Sherlock being unable to run away and John had to ask him once more, this time choosing his words more carefully. Even then he had felt self-absorbed for trapping Sherlock there to once and for all talk about the things they had to talk about. However Sherlock would have ran away if he thought it would be the better option for John than actually trying to mend their erstwhile closeness.  
  
Sherlock's eyes had stared blankly back at him or at least in his vague direction, John could not actually tell, even then he could read the way Sherlock's eyes ever so slightly seemed to focus on him. Signaling the unsaid offer of staying, of listening to what he had to say.  
  
"Would you have made the same sacrifice for her as you once did for me? Because I know you would have. As you have repeated again and again: you have made a vow and I was wrong about you breaking it. Mary's life was hers to carry in her hands, hers to give and she made a choice, the choice to protect you. Her death never was your fault."  
  
John had held Sherlock's gaze when he spoke, stopped once he saw the otherwise carefully composed man on the verge of tears and before he could even run the risk of being in a very similar situation, John just had to make sure Sherlock heard everything he had to say and should have told him a long time ago.

Still, he waited for the other man to somehow show him that it was alright to continue or even say something in return. Sherlock did the former when he eventually nodded.

 

Never letting John out of his sight, as if he feared this was all imaginary, something that brilliant mind of his had made up in a twisted form of solace. It hurt seeing him so hopeful, and yet still doubting John's every word. Thus he waited for an answer, ready to wait as long as he had to and if there would never be an answer he had to accept it and when there to no surprise actually wasn't one but the continuous blank stare he continued, knowing full well it was already long overdue to say all this.  
  
"All I can say now, Sherlock, is that I am truly and deeply ashamed of what I did to you. I'm by no means entitled to you trusting or forgiving me in the near future or ever again. You are my friend, and you tried, oh what am I saying, you have protected me so many times. Everything you did in the last few years was meant as the continuation of what you've done so many times before. I'm sorry for not seeing it, for not realizing it sooner."  


"John," nothing more than that one word, his name and Sherlock's voice had just sounded hollow, every hint of what had been there minutes before had been gone by then and some part of John simply wanted to ask if there was a way to make this right again, a way of restoring their former friendship, everything they once used to have.  
  
"I cannot do this John, coming back from case after case with you and little Rosamund Mary waiting for me. I don't deserve you being here, waiting for me as if nothing ever happened. As if I weren't responsible for her mother's-"  
  
He did not want to interrupt him, getting him to speak about his emotions was hard enough already but John could not and would not let Sherlock blame himself any longer.  
  
"Sherlock, no. Mary did what she did out of love, not just for me but also for you. She jumped and so did you, it's not the same but both of you did it out of love." John interrupted him gently, reaching for Rosie and it pained him a little, when Sherlock subconsciously seemed to tighten his hold and then let go of her as if he was not even allowed to hold his goddaughter a second longer than her father granted him.  


They had talked for so long, some parts must have sounded as if they had been committed to memory, which was actually true for some parts of their conversation because John had been talking about the ones he needed to have with Sherlock with almost every therapist he went to.

 

 

That particular conversation had been a while ago, more than that actually and they eventually had to talk about more than their past: their future relationship, but that could wait for now. Had to wait, John was afraid of rushing and ruining what had been there for so long without either of them being able to see the potential of their feelings, the chance that they were not as once-sided as they both may have feared.  
  
Whatever their relationship would be, he was ready to get to know each other as more than they already were, actually had been once Sherlock had started to explain and eventually asked John if he was also ready to get used to being in a serious committed relationship. In a faint tone Sherlock had added he might not be comfortable with the more physical aspects such a relationship might contain. He had rather whispered the last few words about the intimacy between them once they lay in bed, and before he could worry about John just getting out of bed then and there, leaving him for good, John had just moved around until he could reach for Sherlock's hand.

 

Intertwining their fingers he told him that despite being the most intelligent man he knew, Sherlock could also be the most inattentive at times and that of course he loved him for who he was and for being there and not because he was just a person he could possibly sleep with.    
  
"We are already sleeping together, either way, this is enough for me. As long as you're okay, I'm okay."  
   
There was a hand, brushing lightly over his neck, his chin and John was content to just keep laying there, while Sherlock traced the shape of his face ever so carefully as if he somehow feared he might break him.

  
"I don't deserve you, John."  
  
"If one of us doesn't deserve the other it's me...", John murmured and buried his face in his pillow, all of a sudden unable to face Sherlock even though not even the great detective would be able to see his face in the dark. He had blamed himself and more so Sherlock for so much, so many things that had happened in his life and still, they had moved on and forgiven the other.  
  
In spite of that, a small part of him knew just how unfairly he had treated Sherlock. His thoughts were cut short, when Sherlock wrapped his arms around him and whispered into his neck, apparently having found a part of John's body he was particularly fond of.  
  
"Tomorrow morning we'll talk about this, John. It's okay, everything's okay. We are going to be alright-"  
  
"-Didn't knew you could predict the future..."  
  
"My deductions are never wrong."  
  
John rolled over, knowing Sherlock would certainly not be able to see his raised eyebrow in the dark.  
  
"Yeah, you great detective, according to you I've got a brother..."  
  
"According to you, my friend, you're not gay."  
  
They were still whispering as silently as possible, careful not to break Rosie's sleep.  
  
"Am not, I have always been bi. You clearly haven't missed that, haven't you?"  
  
"John, you're cuddling with a man. A man who is trying to help you raise your daughter. A man said daughter calls papa. A man who loves her as much as if she was his own, which I dare say she already thinks she is. A man who-"  
  
"I got it, Sherlock, I seriously got it. You're being sentimental."  
  
"-A man who loves you. Of course I haven't _missed that_ as you have put it."        
  
John did not miss a beat when he answered, not even trying to fight the urge to think about the weight such words might carry and once more reached for Sherlock's hands, firmly holding onto them.  
  
 "Tomorrow, okay? ...I love you too, and now sleep, you ridiculous man."  
  


 

 

  
   


**Author's Note:**

> The titel is from the Song "All That I Am" from Rob Thomas -which is such a Johnlock song in my opinion.
> 
> Don't get me wrong, I love this show and the characters so much but in my opinion some of them were just out of character during the main part of the fourth series -I so deeply hoped John would just realize that what he had done was wrong, that he did abuse Sherlock's trust in him, their former friendship... and that they would just sit down and talk. So this is my version of what I hoped would have happened. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading it. :)


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